


Life, Love, and Music Stores

by Tattoo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Bad Parenting, Beware the Cliches, Cancer, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Freckled Bretheren, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Smut, Mildly Offensive Party Games, Minor Character Death, Music Stores, MusicGeek!Jean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Relationship(s), Rock!Marco, Romance, Rooftop Conversations, Sexual Tension, Sleepovers, Slow Build, artist!marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattoo/pseuds/Tattoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repetition is something Jean is content with. Working in a dusty music store every day? Great. Going out for drinks every Saturday with his friends? Awesome. Call Father on Tuesday. Wear pink to work on Friday. Watch the new episode of whatever the latest TV trend happens to be every Sunday. Repetition is something Jean has been quite satisfied with. Until a certain clumsy freckled saint walks through the door one day and shatters his safe and repetitious cycle (and nose) and unexpectedly rocks his world in ways he's never dreamed of. Literally. Absolutely fantastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, Love, and Music Stores

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! So, this is my very first fanfiction and unfortunately I lack a beta reader, but I plan to make the most of what I can. This story will be Jean-centric, written in Jean's POV for the majority of the story. I may periodically switch to Marco's POV for some insight as to how he's handling things, but it's unlikely.  
> Life, Love, and Music Stores is overall a story about a growing relationship between two people who could not be more opposite. I can't summarize it much more than that. Enjoy!

An irritating glare of sunlight filtered through the blinds, hitting my eyelids uncomfortably. I cracked them open, scrunching my face in displeasure at the groggy thought of getting out of bed. I grasped blindly at the plaid sheets, trying unsuccessfully to find my phone. With a groan, I heaved myself into a sitting position, still in a sleepy stupor. I heard the muted buzzing of an alarm sounding from the phone, and I grumbled grumpily.

_Annoying._ I yawned, arching my back and swinging my legs over the edge of my mattress, ignoring the offending object. I’d find the damn thing later. I stumbled into the bathroom across the hall, lazily brushing my teeth and fidgeting unsuccessfully with a comb in an attempt to tame my rats nest of two-toned hair. I spared a glance at the digital wall clock.

_10:45 AM._ My eyes widened at the angry red numbers, and I bolted to my room, grabbing the nearest pair of jeans and yanking them on violently, followed in suit by a shirt I scooped off of the floor without bothering to sniff. I vaulted down the stairs, snatching my keys and wallet off of the table in our tiny kitchenette and hurriedly shoving my feet into an old pair of Vans knockoffs.

“Where’s the fire?” I heard my mother yawn sleepily from the threshold of the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hands and her fuzzy pink bathrobe swaddling her in comfort.

I spared her half a glance and quarter of a smile as I made my way to the door with a hurried, “Work, late, love you!”

I ran into the parking lot of our apartment complex, brushing off the floral debris on my windshield briefly before climbing in my beat up Chevy and peeling out of the parking lot as fast as possible.

  


***

  


I pulled up slowly to the old record shop at 11:15, the fading sign of “Pixis’ 104th”, usually rustic and welcoming now shadowing me with a sense of foreboding. __Time to meet your fate, Kirchstein.__ I mentally sighed, parking crookedly and cutting my engine.

“Jean Kirchstein!” the shrill voice of my boss perforated even the thick glass windows of my outdated vehicle.

I opened the door to my car and slunk out. “Jean Kirschtein,” I mimicked quietly as my manager stomped vehemently into my personal space bubble.

“You better have a pretty good reason for being _almost an hour late_ _,_ _ _buddy__ _._ ” Her words dripped with sarcasm and annoyance.

I pursed my lips, because I didn’t have a good reason other than sleeping through my alarm. “Sorry, Ymir.”

“‘Sorry Ymir’ is not a reason. I should fire you, honestly. This is the third time you’ve been tardy in the last two weeks. Mr. P wouldn’t stand for it, you know.”

I inwardly winced. What a hell of a conversation that’d be with my father, losing yet another job. I hunched my shoulders, shrugging and muttering half apologies that probably meant as much to Ymir as a giant would care for an ant.

Ymir’s posture shifted, becoming loose and less professional. Maybe she was having a good day or something; her eyes were lacking a bit of their usual hardness. “Whatever,” she shook her head, “You’re lucky we’ve been dead this morning. Get your butt in there and get to work. And you’re staying after to shelve the product we’ll be getting in later.”

I grit my teeth and nodded shortly as the sinking feeling in my stomach dissipated. Marching into the 104th and heading directly to the register, I’d hardly pinned my nametag on when Ymir came back into the store. Catching sight of me, she marched over and folded her arms across her small chest. Her eyebrow twitched, signaling annoyance.

“Nope,” she reprimanded after a moment, grabbing the back of my collar and tugging me away, “I’ve decided. You’re condemned to the damnation that is stocking, shelving, and organizing today.”

I stuttered in protest, tripping over my own feet to follow her in reverse. "Do I have to?” I muttered under my breath while Ymir’s grip only tightened. _Kill me now._ She came to an abrupt halt, turning to stoop down and pick up my punishment. She forcefully pushed stacks of records into my arms with a smirk. She piled more on top of the original pile. And more. And more _\- fucking Christ Ymir-_ until she stopped, the records now towering well above my head and blocking my direct line of sight quite efficiently.

“Have fun,” she grinned, before turning heel and calling over her shoulder on her way to yhe register, “And I’ll be leaving around two today. Krista and I are celebrating our eighteen month anniversary.”

__Ah, so__ _that's_ _ _why I didn't get fired today.__ “What? That’s totally unfair!” I whined. _And also, eighteen months isn’t much of an anniversary._

“You have to stay late anyway, so you can just close up shop for me, yeah?”

Letting out a strangled sound of frustration, I wobbled towards the partially empty record rack towards the back of the store, muttering ferociously about my future vengeance on the freckled lesbian population of the world.

I vaguely registered the door jingling open and the noisy chatter of a few people. I disregarded it, glancing around for a location to place my burden. A small empty basket was down the aisle, and with my target acquired I took four hesitant steps forward before promptly spilling the entire contents in my arms to the floor, my legs tangling with another pair and stray arm flying to whack me in the face as I hit the ground with a thud and a dull crack.

"Ffffff-!" I bit my tongue to avoid cursing, curling in on myself with a pained exhale of breath, clutching at my aching nose with one hand and gingerly rubbing the goose egg that was beginning to form on the back of my head with the other. I pulled my hand away from my nose, staring dumbly at the bright red blood covering it.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” a deep voice frantically bit into my daze. Two strong hands gripped my shoulders to pull me into a sitting position.

All I could see was a fuzzy outline of a face and dozens of dots. _Holy_ _christ_ _that_ _i_ _s a lot of-_ “Freckles…?”

“Good job Bodt, I think you’ve given him a concussion!” a booming laugh sounded from somewhere close.

“Reiner, be nice!” another voice chimed in, chastising but gentle at the same time.

“Uh-uhm- Jeen?” I think someone was trying to read my nametag, and definitively doing it wrong. “Uh, are you alright?”

“Jean-. S’French.” I slurred, my vision clearing a bit.

“Jean? Oh, okay… uh… can you sit up straight and tip your head forward a bit? And pinch your nose too?”

I cleared my throat and tilted my head forward, watching just as dumbly as before as blood dripped from my nose to the floor. __Oh, yeah, pinch. Pinch nose.__ I placed my thumb and forefinger on the soft part of my nose. Where was Ymir?

“Here,” the same voice that had been directing me was soft now, opening my palm for me and placing a warm, damp rag into it. Large warm hands guided my own to my nose, replacing my pinched fingers with the cloth.

“Oi, Jean, get up.”

I glanced up at the voice, my nose still aching. Ymir’s usual scowl filled my now clear vision. _There you are, demon manager from hell._

“Give him a second, he hit the ground pretty hard.” My head whipped back around rather unwisely, and I felt heady and dizzy once again. In front of me were three men and a woman standing alongside Ymir, all in varying states of emotion- ranging from boredom to nervousness to downright _amuse_ _ment._

But my eyes were immediately drawn to the dark haired, tan-skinned, _very_ _f_ reckled, _very beautiful_ man kneeling in front of me… with blood on his hands. My disgusting nose blood. Lovely. I grimaced, and he looked embarrassed.

“Hey,” he cleared his throat awkwardly and gave a warm and timid smile. "Uh, I’m really sorry. I’m Marco, Marco Bodt.”

    

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, here was the first chapter! Sorry its short but this is really my writing style... the chapters will vary in length, but the first one is super short. I'd love to hear your feedback! Thanks! <3


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